


I Have Faith

by Princess_Piggles



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Animal Abuse, Atheism, Christianity, Cultural Differences, Faith Healing, Gen, Having Faith, Introspection, POV First Person, Religion, Snakes, snake handling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 04:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Piggles/pseuds/Princess_Piggles
Summary: Korekiyo experiences snake handling at an Appalachian church





	I Have Faith

“Sister Kiyo, would you like to come to the altar and pray?”

I’m interrupted from my mental note taking by an invitation, which I politely and shyly decline. That’s important for the persona that I’ve constructed here. I’m female, for one thing, being oddly tall is a bit of a set back for people accepting that, but the notion that I’m claiming it in this context without it being true would be quite a stretch anyway. I’m thin and relatively frail, which is an acceptable physique for the claim as well, bolstered by my issues with breathing and cough. Being female with a slightly odd body type is far more welcome than being male with long hair and feminine mannerisms. Brother Matthew, as I’ve come to know him, is taking his ill daughter up, so it makes sense that he’d offer to escort me too. My story is that I’m looking for healing, and the deep woods Appalachian church I’ve found is just pleasantly surprised that an outsider would be willing to attempt faith healing. I’ve had a few sessions of “laying on of hands” and received an anointed prayer cloth or two, as far as I’m aware, my health is not improved, but my standing in the church is.

This church, it doesn’t even have an address. It’s a wooden structure, simple, but well cared for, as expected from a building that arises entirely out of community need. Churches are a plenty in this region, but one should not take that to mean that they’re interchangeable. There’s one room, pews line the floor in straight rows, with an aisle down the middle, then there’s an altar and pulpit in front, with a small piano on one side. The people who built it are all accounted for here tonight. There’s John Mason, the carpenter, Michael Alexander, the foreman at the local mill who got the supplies, old Mrs. Jameson, who donated the piano and plays it on an alternating basis with her daughter and granddaughter. The church doesn’t have electricity, not for any sort of religious mandate, just pragmatically, it was considered unnecessary. People mostly walk here from local houses, usually cutting through the woods, but there is a dirt drive from an actual road, and the pastor arrives with a third of the congregation in the back of his pick up truck every Sunday morning. I’m usually escorted by one of the young men who lives nearest the house at which I’m staying. While I may not seem romantically eligible, helping someone like me is quite the boon to the local girls who prize community, kindness, and religious devotion.

My presentation here is easy to slip into, I’m naturally relatively quiet, and it can be enjoyable to be treated as though I’m delicate. The attire is a little more strange to wear, I miss my mask, but I can wear a paper surgical one without anyone saying much, at least on occasion. My hair is usually braided behind me, simple and efficient, if lacking in elegance. I’ve forgone my make up as well. The clothing is unremarkable, a denim skirt to my ankles with white hose under it, simple, brown, slip-on shoes, and a loose, long sleeved, white cardigan over one of several fairly plain blouses with high collars. Refusing to come to the front of the church is expected of a young woman who isn’t particularly outgoing, though accepting the invitation wouldn’t be wrong, just odd, particularly as I would be escorted.

But I’m here for a particular reason. The snakes. Snake handling is a very rarely practiced tradition in certain rural Christian churches in the United States and I’ve never gotten to study it up close, despite finding the notion fascinating. It was difficult to locate a church that engaged in the practice, let alone one that I could join, and I’ve been here for nearly two months, waiting for the opportunity to observe the phenomenon, as they don’t bring out the snakes every service. 

The relevant Bible verse is Mark 16:18. “They shall take up serpents, and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.” The interpretation of this is, essentially, that if one’s faith is sufficiently strong, God would stop one from being bitten by a poisonous snake, should one hold it, as well as provide protection against poisoning, though I haven’t found any churches that make a habit of drinking poison. 

In practicality, snake handling churches employ a few strategies to ensure that the snakes are, at least, safer to touch. They keep them cold such that they’re sleepy and docile when used in the service, they milk them so that they’ll be unable to deliver a dangerous amount of venom, and more invasively, they sometimes remove the fangs or sew the mouth closed. Leaving one’s protection entirely up to faith is untenable to all but the most devout, even for tests and displays of faith. 

After a rousing sermon on how various things lead one to hell fire and a few inspiring songs to comfort any uneasy sinners in the congregation, I see that luck is on my side, and today appears to be the day which I’ve been eagerly anticipating. 

“Alright, everyone, we’re preparing for homecoming, so the service is going to run a little long and everyone who wants to can put their faith in Jesus-” the pastor sounds excited and reverent, “-as we all should all of the time, and experience the sweet surrender of trust in our Lord and savior.” 

One of the younger men, I believe his name is Jacob, walks out of the side door beside the pulpit, and then comes back a moment later with a cloth lined, wicker basket. Perhaps the timing makes sense, it is now getting cold outside, so if they store their snakes on church property, just outside, it would be coming upon the time which would be safer to handle them. 

Glancing around, a few people are nervous, looking wide eyed toward the basket and shaking their heads, others are praying, deeply engaged in their spiritual experience. In a cross cultural experience that I’ve observed a million times in a million ways, there’s a group of teenage boys egging each other on, prompting displays of bravado and strength. They’re the first to approach the basket. 

I recognize a copperhead on sight, a bite would be painful for most people, and dangerous for any who are infirm, be it related to age or sickness. My own constitution is in question, but that is not going to stop me from experiencing this facet of beautiful human ritual. The boys are sure handed, but nervous, passing the snake between themselves quickly and carefully, like a bizarre game of hot potato, albeit with higher stakes. The next to come out has a characteristic rattle, though they’re far too lethargic to use it. Another serious bite risk, a more powerful venom, but a calmer temperament. There are no venomous snakes in this region that should be a significant danger to most healthy people, although that perception does depend on the victim getting medical attention and antivenin, if indicated, which would not at all be guaranteed for this group of people. 

I draw closer to the basket, hovering on the fringes of the group. In a pantomime of shy interest, my feet dance back and forth, and I find my hands reaching hesitantly toward the remaining coiled reptiles in the basket. 

“Oh, you’d like to try, Sister?” the pastor smiles at me encouragingly, “Of course. Boys, make room.” They part for me immediately and I blush under the attention of their gaze. 

“Thank you,” I nod, quickly stepping forward and gathering two snakes, one of each species, into my arms. 

They’re cold and seem a bit confused. Most people seem to want to hold them out and limit contact to their hands, this gives the snake no motivation to try to go anywhere in particular. But as I’m cradling them against me, they instantly move toward the crooks of my arms, pressing themselves lightly against my ribs. They want to be warm. I wish I had more body heat to give them, but we’ll see if it’s sufficient. I know I’m allowing them to become more dangerous, but isn’t that really in the spirit of the experience?

I’m an atheist, but I’ve spent a lot of time in worship of gods that I don’t believe in. I do the rituals, learn the lore. If they’re real, it’s still their followers that I care about. But I wonder, will any of them protect me here? I look down at the snakes, the copperhead has doubled over so that the bulk of their body is between my arm and side, and I can make eye contact with them. I wouldn’t wonder that it’s just projection, but I find myself mentally addressing them. 

_ Do you know I’m different than the other ones here? Do you know I don’t believe? It’s a matter of faith, what’s meant to protect me, but I’m no threat to you anyway, do you know that? _

I glance back at the rattlesnake and see that they’ve got their head tucked under and are coiled in a tight knot, probably trying to absorb as much heat as possible. I feel a fond smile pull at my lips, though I need to be careful, if I seem too happy, this could look very strange. Being inappropriately relaxed will probably just be taken as a signal that I’m particularly faithful. 

“Sister Kiyo,” the pastor catches my eye, he seems slightly nervous, “That’s probably enough. You can put them back?” 

He knows that they’re getting warm. I could put them down, perhaps I should, but it doesn’t seem like I’m going to. I’m stuck again, this happens to me sometimes, I get too invested in what I’m doing, I want to see what happens. And I want to see what happens if these snakes stay with me. It will be beautiful.

“No, it’s alright,” I assure him, smiling. My reason will be misinterpreted, just as it should be. I mean to be talking about the snakes, but he’ll assume something higher. “I have faith.” 


End file.
